


gonna run this show (right into the ground)

by meekinheritance



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Children, Coming of Age, Cute Kids, Eventual L/Yagami Light, Fae & Fairies, Families of Choice, Family, Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Meddling Kids, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Recovery, Sirens, Slow Burn, Social Justice, Speciesism, Trans Male Character, Trans Yagami Light, Vampires, Werewolf Discrimination, Werewolves, Wizards, they all start as children so like the slowest burn you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17482172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meekinheritance/pseuds/meekinheritance
Summary: A badly timed family vacation results in a twelve-year-old Light Yagami being attacked and turned into a werewolf. He is required to live in Mu, a reservation for magical beings.Stranded in a systematically unfair world and denied access to his non-magical family, Light must navigate a society in which he's a second class citizen. Unfortunately for the powers that be, he refuses to be served injustice and take it lying down.He supposes the reservation is lucky to have him, even if the idiots haven't figured it out yet.(Haitus, but will probably continue someday.)





	1. teeth

Light Yagami wakes up in a room he doesn’t recognize, aching all over. The room is dimly lit by just a couple nearby candles, and when he lifts the blanket, he finds his entire torso is bandaged. His heart beats hard enough that it hurts his ribs, which are already sore from whatever injury the bandages are covering. He sinks back into the pillow, inhaling unsteadily.  
  
Cold panic begins to pick up under his skin as he looks for anything familiar, eyes darting around the bedroom. There’s a soft beeping sound coming from a hospital machine that’s attached to his hand. He wants to rip it out, but clenches his fingers around the blanket instead. The bandages are already soaked with blood and every time he moves, a new and deeper twinge begins to make itself known.  
  
Whatever he’s being given is helping with the pain, he’s sure. He doesn’t like it, his head is clouded and he’s more tired than he can ever remember being. Still, he forces his eyes to stay open, tries to take in his surroundings. The last thing he remembers is a camping trip with his family. Usually his father is so busy with work that he barely gets to see him. He hadn’t been having much fun, but it had still been nice.  
  
Light remembers going to sleep in the tent, and waking up here, nothing more.  
  
“Poor thing,” the old man whispers, pressing a hand to Light’s forehead. It’s only then that he realizes that he’s broken out in a cold sweat. His bangs are soaked. “You shouldn’t be awake yet.”  
  
“Where,” Light tries to ask, but it comes out a croak. The old man’s hand is soft and wrinkly, stroking soothingly over Light’s feverish forehead.  
  
“Shh, child, don’t try to speak just yet. Sleep now, we’ll talk soon.”  
  
“Nn,” Light begins, intent on saying ‘no’, that he will not sleep here in this strange bed at the request of a strange man, but his vision darkens before he can.

 

* * *

  
  
The next time Light wakes up, he’s doesn’t hurt at all. At first this comes as a relief. The pervasive ache he felt with every movement and breath is gone. He draws in deeply, just to make sure, before he even opens his eyes. His head isn’t clouded with painkillers anymore, and he barely recalls the first time he woke up, although he knows that he did. He hopes that the unfamiliar room was a product of the drugs, and so was the stranger who had coaxed him back to sleep. He isn’t sure why his mother would be warped into an elderly British man he’s never met before, but it would be much better than the alternative.  
  
He opens his eyes. The strange room still surrounds him, and worse yet, the implications of being fully healed set in. A wound like that? Deep enough to make his toes throb, to have layers of thick bandages all up and down his body? The last time he’d woken up he’d been in so much pain and now -  
  
If he’s fully healed, which it feels like he is, he’s been here for long, long time.  
  
He shoots up into a sitting position with horrified shout, pressing his hands to his chest. He’s wearing a pajama top, which he’s relieved about, because the same old man is in the room again with him. He's mustached, bespectacled, wearing all black and holding a clipboard. He doesn't look dangerous, but he doesn't look weak either. Light isn't confident enough to bolt then and there.  
  
‘Where am I?’ is what he should say.  
  
“How long have I been here?” He demands instead, speaking with too much force. His throat is dry and scratchy. It cracks more than once and hurts all the way through to his clavicle.  
  
“A little under a week,” The man answers simply, handing him a glass of water. He’d had it ready for him. Light eyes it suspiciously, before he decides he’s too thirsty not to risk it. Why spend all this time keeping him alive only to poison him right after he wakes up?  
  
When he finally feels hydrated enough to speak again, his tone is sharp and disapproving.  
  
“Liar.”  
  
A bushy eyebrow raises.  
  
“I couldn’t fully heal from something like that in a week. There’s just scar tissue now. What happened to me? Why would you lie about something like that? Where am I? Where is my family?”  
  
“All in good time, young Tsuki -”  
  
Light jolts, lip curling.  
  
“Where did you hear that name? That’s not my name.”  
  
“...I apologize,” Mr. Whammy says, much too agreeably. He looks down at the clipboard in his hands, as if to double check.  “My records must be incorrect. Usually they’re much more accurate. You are a Yagami, though? Twelve-years-old. Soichiro and Sachiko Yagami’s eldest -”  
  
“Son,” Light interrupts, glowering into his mostly empty water glass. “Yes, those are my parents. My name is Light. Has been for ages.”  
  
He thinks he might break the glass. But no, not like this. His hands could get cut, and he’ll need them if he tries to escape. Perhaps he’ll throw it against the wall instead.  
  
“Ah,” Mr. Whammy tilts his head, making a note on his clipboard, diffusing Light’s vitriol. “Light Yagami it is then. I’m Quillish Whammy, and I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions very shortly. Soup should be ready soon. We’ll eat, and then we’ll talk, hm?”  
  
Despite having been out for however long, Light finds himself dozing off again as soon as the man leaves.

 

* * *

 

  
“Mom, do we really have to do this?”  
  
Despite his line of questioning, he’s helping wrap onigiri in plastic wrap for the trip. Both he and his mother stand at the island counter, depositing travel foods neatly into the cooler as they finish them.  
  
“Your father would like to get away, dear,” she says, “I don’t love the idea either, I was never one for camping, but he works so hard. It was Sayu’s idea, anyway, and we never get to go on vacation.”  
  
“It’s just a weekend,” Light says under his breath, “He’s the one that works all the time. That isn’t my fault. Besides, I should be studying. I have the entrance exam in just a couple weeks.”  
  
“Light, your father and sister are looking forward to it,” She says, gently chastising.  
  
“I don’t understand why we would go sleep outside when we have perfectly good beds,” He grumbles, but moves to wrap the next onigiri just the same.  
  
“C’mon, brother!” His sister says loudly, bounding toward him. “You don’t have to study so much, you know! You’re already soooo smart.”  
  
She hugs him around the waist and grins up at him.  
  
“You really want to sleep outside?” He asks, peering down at her. “There’s probably bugs, you know.”  
  
“Ew!” She gasps, pulling back from him like. “Mom, will there really be bugs?”  
  
“We have bug spray, Sayu,” His mom tells her casually, still packing food into the cooler methodically. “I’m sure that your big brother will be happy to shoo away any critters that give you trouble. Isn’t that right, Light?”  
  
“Right,” he says automatically, although he isn’t exactly pleased about being on insect detail.  
  
“Yaaaay! Do we leave soon? When is daddy going to be home? Can I have cookies on the way there? Acshully...can I have cookies now, mommy? Aaaand on the way there?”  
  
Light sighs, ruffles his little sister’s hair, and then heads upstairs to pack.

 

* * *

  
  
There are two things on the bedside table next to Light when he wakes up. A bowl of what looks like vegetable soup and a brochure of some kind. It must not have been long since Mr. Whammy left him, because steam is still coming out of the bowl. He goes for the information pamphlet first, even though his stomach rumbles in protest. It can wait, he decides.  
  
_Welcome to Mu, a home for magical creatures._  
  
Light barks out a laugh. It sounds a little hysterical even to his own ears. What the hell is he reading?  
  
_We’re so pleased to have you! If you’re reading this, then congratulations, you’re safe with us. Mu is a sanctioned reserve for anyone who is mystically inclined. If you’ve been on the run, Mu is your safe haven and new family. If you’ve come into an unexpected inheritance, we’re here to mentor you. Enjoy our thriving potion and artifact trade system, our illustrious underwater mer-cities, our centaur taxi service, tour the elvish forest estates if museums or the emporium are -_  
  
Mr. Whammy appears in the doorway, and Light jerks his head up.  
  
“What is this talking about?”  
  
“Exactly as you read it, my boy -”  
  
“You’re a liar.” Light hisses, hearing the crumple of paper before he feels it in his hand. “This isn’t real, and if it were - no. I’m not any kind of - you must think I’m some kind of idiot. You think this is funny? I want to talk to my parents right now.”  
  
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my boy.”  
  
“Stop calling me that! I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t _sweet_ ,” Light snarls at him, tossing the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the edge. He doesn't make it a single step before his legs give out.

Quicker than he would have guessed, Mr. Whammy is by his side, grasping him by the elbow to keep him upright.  
  
“Today is one week after the accident,” Mr. Whammy says calmly, which only drives Light a little further up the wall. He struggles to get out of old man’s hold, but he’s quite a bit stronger than he looks. “You healed from your wounds in that short time frame because that is what your body does now. That being said, the transformation is not yet complete.”  
  
“ _Transformation_ ,” Light breathes out, and chokes on it. “What does -” He shakes his head. “ _Liar_.”  
  
“I’m telling you the truth,” Mr. Whammy tells him again, like a liar. “Someone got out of the reservation and managed to attack you. It doesn’t happen often. We’re still trying to figure out how they managed it.”  
  
“ _What_.”  
  
“They haven’t been found yet, but our best investigator has a trace on his magical signature.”  
  
“Magical _signature_ ,” Light pulls back roughly and buries his fingers in his hair. His legs are shaking but he refuses to collapse onto the ground. Instead, he makes his way back to the bed and leans against the foot of it heavily. “That doesn’t make any sense. None of that makes sense. I don’t believe anything you say.”  
  
“Just once, if someone could take my word for it,” Mr. Whammy shakes his head, sounding vaguely put out. “What shall I do for you then, hm? Shall I set the wardrobe on fire, or levitate the bed? Perhaps I could transfigure something instead...Ah, yes.”  
  
“What -” Light begins again, eyes cutting over to where the man is looking in time to watch him wave his hand in a smooth, almost dismissive fashion. Wisps of purple sprout from his fingertips and then dissipate a moment later.  
  
Before his eyes, the pamphlet he had crumpled and abandoned on the bed twists in on itself a dozen times over. Then out of nothing else at all, unfolds talons, feathered wings, a tiny beak, until with a little pop a little bird exists in its place.  
  
Light yelps and flings himself from the bed and onto the floor. The little bird hops up onto the bedframe and cheeps, tilting its head at Light curiously.  
  
“What did you - how did you _do_ that?”  
  
“Magic,” Mr. Whammy explains gently, holding out a hand to help him. “I’m a wizard.”  
  
“...Can I do that now?” Light finally asks, and then realizes what a stupid question it is.  
  
As if becoming a wizard had anything to do with getting gutted. He takes Whammy’s hand and lets himself get set back on his feet.

"I'm afraid not," Mr. Whammy supplies, unhelpfully.

Light presses a hand to his stomach. He can feel the scarring through the clothes, and the answer comes to him, no matter how much he wishes it wouldn’t. A memory of red eyes and a canine maw, of sharp teeth, dances to the front of his mind.  
  
“So I’m a…” He can’t bring himself to say it, and he blames it on his mouth being dry. It’s really for the best that he didn’t eat first, even if his stomach feels hollow, because he feels sick to his stomach all over.  
  
“A werewolf,” Mr. Whammy tells him, voice quieter than ever now. “I’m so sorry, my boy.”  
  
Light doesn’t correct him this time. A terrible, heavy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. If what he knows from his vague knowledge of lore was even partially true, he would only transform once a month. He supposes that would be better than being a freak all the time, and he supposes he can chalk it up to another monthly curse to dread. But something in Mr. Whammy’s voice tells him that it isn’t so simple, and considering how little he knows about this place, he can’t even begin to fathom what it could be.  
  
He reaches for the conjured creature thoughtlessly.The bird jumps playfully into Light’s outstretched hand, before curling in on itself and unrolling into a now unmarred copy of the pamphlet. The _Welcome to Mu!_ jumps up from the page and mocks him.  
  
He sits back on the bed, feeling exhausted all over again, and this time reads the pamphlet in full. It doesn’t mention werewolves anywhere, which is frustrating, and he intends to ask more about that later, but there is an even more pressing gap in information. One that he fears he already knows the answer to.  
  
“It just goes through all the ... _amenities_ ,” Light says, voice trembling more than he would like. “It doesn’t say anything about… about going home at all, about visiting my family. Or them visiting me.”  
  
Mr. Whammy is silent for a long moment.  
  
“No, it doesn’t.”  
  
Light swallows hard. “This isn’t a choice then. You aren’t here to help me, you’re here to...to _keep_ me.”  
  
The response is a heavy hand on his shoulder. It doesn’t feel comforting this time, even though he is fairly sure Mr. Whammy means it to be so (unless he really is a liar). It feels oppressive.  
  
“If it helps, Light, try to think if it as more of a gated community.”  
  



	2. war

The soup is cold by the time Light feels hungry again, so Mr. Whammy warms it up for him without a word. Another simple wave of his hand is all it takes. Light’s mind won’t stop buzzing with thoughts, plans to escape or at least contact his family, but he also remembers what the old man had said in passing about the werewolf who had attacked him.

_We still don’t know how he escaped. That doesn’t happen often._

“I want to read about what I am,” Light demands, before he can let himself dwell on things that are almost definitely impossible. That doesn’t mean he won’t try, but for now, it’s best to navigate his situation realistically and hoard as much intelligence on this place as possible. If he can make Mr. Whammy think that he’s playing along, he might be able to gain some trust that will lead to opportunity.

“I’m afraid, well,” Mr. Whammy frowns, “I’m afraid there...aren’t any books about werewolves, Light.”

“What? No books about a whole species? How can that be possible?” What kind of medieval show were they running here? He’d thought they would at least be civilized enough to have records.

Mr. Whammy is evasive, but he does look sorry. “Apologies, my boy, I know that must be a frustrating answer. I wouldn’t be happy with it either, but I’ve been looking ever since you came here for more information on werewolf kind, with no results. But I can tell you everything I know about them.”

Light sighs deeply. He hates Mr. Whammy. He hates the reservation. He everything about this place so much. He hates the werewolf who attacked him and the one inside him too.

He crushes the hate into something compact in his mind and buries it for safe keeping.

“So you do have books, just not about werewolves.”

“That’s right. We have extensive libraries, in fact.”

“Convenient.”

“Inconvenient, my boy. I wouldn’t withhold any material that I thought might be useful to you.”

He says it so sincerely that Light reluctantly believes him. His kind eyes are creased with his own frustration, and Light supposes that it’s for his sake. At least, he doesn’t look pleased about having to report the lack of literature to him. Light figures that’s better than the man willfully denying him it, but he’s still left without any real knowledge about his new state of being. He’s not any better off just because Mr. Whammy is sympathetic.

“Fine. So I’ll transform on the full moon, correct? I can’t do it whenever I want?”

“Correct. There are some shifters in the woods, but they are predominantly jungle animals.”

“And I won’t be able to control myself when I transform. That’s usually a standard.”

“There is a potion that can potentially help with that, but generally, yes.”

“A potion,” Light repeats dryly. “Potentially. If you can’t find literature on werewolves, then I’m guessing that said potion is lost as well.”

“I have a student who is adept at potions who has been working on recreating it for you.”

“But?” Light prompts, waiting for the bad news.

“But it’s difficult, and it may not be ready by your first transformation,” Mr. Whammy admits, exhaling softly. “We do have a basement readied for you.”

“With restraints?”

“Light,” Mr. Whammy begins, but Light cuts him off.

“You’re not doing me any favors by sugar coating this for me,” Light tells him, trying to hold back the scowl that wants to creep onto his face.

“Yes, it’s protocol to restrain werewolves when they lack a Consciousness Potion,” Mr. Whammy tells him begrudgingly. “I truly hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I’m sure you do,” Light snips, moving on. “Does silver hurt us?”

“Yes, there’s quite a sensitivity to it, from what I’ve gathered,” Mr. Whammy informs him, “That’s actually a rather common one though. Vampires, Fae, even Sirens, to an extent, can be harmed by silver.”

“Well, as long as it’s not just us,” Light says sardonically, which makes Mr. Whammy smile, a little amused and a little sad. Light doesn’t want to talk to him any more after that, at least until morning.

 

* * *

 

“I found a book that has a small section on werewolves, in A Brief History of Mu Reserve. But I must warn you, there’s a complicated history when it comes to werewolves on the reservation,” Mr. Whammy tells him, which doesn’t tell Light much at all. Everything here seems set up to obstruct him somehow. “It isn’t very...well, I wouldn’t be recommending it to you if it wasn’t the only option.”

“This will do, thank you,” Light answers shortly, taking the small hardback book from the old man and looking it over. It’s only a little over a hundred pages. He’s never seen a history book so small in his life. Another coil of resentment curls into his stomach. This place is the worst.

Before Mr. Whammy can leave him, before he’s even started on the first page of the book, he has to confirm something that has been itching at the back of his mind since he read the pamphlet.

“If there’s no literature on werewolves, there must not be many of them.”

Light’s tone is a little harsher than he meant for it to be, but the old man doesn’t point it out. He never does; he almost seems to encourage Light’s attitude at times.

“...The one who bit you is the only one that we know of,” Mr. Whammy confesses, looking uncomfortable. “I’m so -”

“Sorry, yes, well,” Light snaps. He doesn’t want another apology. He’s starting to feel like himself again, physically, but he thinks he might still throw up if the man demonstrates his pity one more time. “Just let me read in peace, will you?”

“Certainly,” Mr. Whammy agrees, shutting the door gently behind him.

 

* * *

 

Everything in the book is heartless and vague. There are no details, no actual useful information. All Light knows by the time he completes it is that Mu has been here for thousands of years, is located somewhere between Japan and England, and that it used to be more than twice the size it is now. It then goes on to describe the rebuilding and expansion of the elvish forest estates, the construction of the underwater communities and their impact on the aguaculture, and how the locations of various nymph parks were selected. It’s terribly dry, and seems deliberately useless.

 _The Great Beast War_ is mentioned toward the end, but it doesn’t even say how long ago it was. The section is only a few sentences long, and two of them feature werewolves - though not even by name.

_A variety of creatures joined together to fight back against our invaders, creatures with a sickness that causes them to lose their minds under the full moon. A particularly harrowing battle ensued on what is now Dallenvale Conservatory, wherein the Reservation Allegiance ensured that those fallen ill were effectively quarantined, securing a new age of peace for all magical creatures._

“They’re all dead then,” Light whispers when the man comes to visit him next, his eyes puffy and sore from crying. He’s glad that the room is dark. He can only imagine how the old man would look at him if he knew he’d been crying.

“Yes,” Mr. Whammy answers, just as quietly. He doesn’t apologize, and for that, Light’s grateful.

“Except the one who did this to me.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you haven’t even found him yet.” Light doesn’t even think he sounds angry this time. His tone is flat, more tired than anything.

“Not yet. We will, especially with L on the case. No one has ever gotten away.”

The statement isn’t even reassuring like it’s supposed to be. It occurs to Light that what Mr. Whammy meant by ‘investigator’ is really more like a hunter. Light pulls the blanket over himself, turns away until he’s rolled up in it, and falls silent until Mr. Whammy leaves him alone.

 

* * *

 

“When can I leave?”

Mr. Whammy’s pauses, carefully setting down a tray of food piled with Light’s breakfast. Normally it would be an obscene amount of food, but Light is starving after a week of nothing and then two days of soup or mash. His mouth waters, but he waits for his answer first.

“I’m afraid all magical creatures must stay within the boundaries of the -”

“The reservation wardline, yes, I read the pamphlet and the book, if you can even call it that. ” Light snaps, exasperated. He hates the way the man looks at him. Like he’s a sad child to be taken care of and doted upon. Is he a reviled werewolf or isn’t he? “I meant this room. This house. When can I leave it? You never leave the door unlocked when you leave, so I guess I’m stuck here for a while. How long?”

No one has ever gotten away. The words resound in Light’s head, not for the first time.

“There are protocols that must be followed,” Mr. Whammy explains. “We don’t like to leave new residents unprepared for life on the reservation. The Advisories have requested that you stay in this room until your first transformation, where you’ll be brought to the basement until morning. You’ll have more freedom to roam the premises once you recover, but we have a few classes and paperwork to get through before you can leave here. It’s a halfway house, of sorts.”

New residents, ha, more like new captives. Light doesn’t say that though.

“I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s for your safety, Light.”

“You mean it’s for their safety,” Light snarls, “Because I’m dangerous.”

Those eyes go soft again and Light can’t stand it. He hates Mr. Whammy so much when he looks at him like that. He wants to throw the food tray in his stupid old face.

“That isn’t what I think, Light, but the Advisories are particular about how the rules are followed, especially pertaining to beings that we...don’t have much experience with.”

Beings that we don’t trust to be on their own, more like. Light shoves down a sudden inclination to scream, crushes it into a far corner of his mind.

“Fine. I’ll go through your protocols, but I’d like a copy of them.”

“...Pardon me?” Mr. Whammy says in his too gentle voice, this time with a tint of confusion.

“You said there were rules that I must follow now that I’m,” Light’s jaw tightens but he launches past the nausea rising in his stomach. “Now that I’m like this. So you must have some kind of rulebook, right? A list of laws, or at least a guide? I want to read it.”

Mr. Whammy stares back at him, eyebrows high enough to deepen the wrinkles in his forehead until there are four heavy lines there, held up on white bushy brows identical to his mustache.

“You do have a record of your rules, right?” Light huffs, irritated and anxious by the lack of response. He knows next to nothing about this place, but they did have a monitor hooked up to him when he first woke up. “You don’t seem that primitive.”

Now Mr. Whammy looks amused, chapped lips quirking. “We do have a set of laws, recorded in a series of tomes. They’re sorted by type, however. There are several kinds.”

“Fine,” Light sighs, sitting back against the pillows with finality. “I’ll start with Immigration Law then, and we’ll go from there.”

“That’s ...very studious of you.”

“What else is there to do while I wait for the moon?” Light asks irritably. This man doesn’t know him, but if he did, he’d know that studying is what Light does best. Being bright only gets one so far. “I like to know what’s expected of me.”

Not to mention, what kind of place the reservation is. If they really demand that all magical creatures be confined to this one landmass, with no visitation in either direction, they must be strict in other ways too. Light had always made sure to follow the rules of the real world to the letter. There was a reason he was the the top of his class in a prestigious school, on the fast track to the best university in the country. He didn’t get there because he didn’t know how to learn and follow rules; that was what school was all about, after all. Being a werewolf wasn’t going to change who he was.

A wave of nostalgia passes over him, clenching his stomach in a terrible knot. It takes him several seconds to realize that Mr. Whammy was still standing there, his question unanswered.

“Unless there’s a rule against me reading up on your laws?” Light tries to bite the question out, feeling combative, but he’s actually a little bit sick at the thought that it might be true.

“Of course not, my boy,” Mr. Whammy says, his smile warm enough that Light has to look away. “You’re welcome to study whatever you please. I’ll bring you notebooks and pens, if you like.”

“Assorted colors?” He finds himself asking, and then feels a little silly for it. His gaze lands on a patch of peeling wallpaper.“...It helps with organization.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Whammy says, seeming to take the request more seriously rather than finding it childish. “Anything else?”

“Sticky tabs,” Light says definitively, figuring that he might as well go all out if that’s all he has to do for the next three weeks. The old man seems about to turn away, so Light quickly rattles off the rest of his list before he can. “Highlighters and four binders. Oh, and a planner.”

A small smile curls onto Mr. Whammy’s face, and he tilts his head forward.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for your reviews!! I'm pretty excited about this. I hope Light's coming across the right amount of mature yet petulant. he is going through some rough stuff and quillish is a pretty patient guy - he deals with mello after all. who you'll meet in the next chapter btw
> 
> please let me know what you thought about the chapter!!


	3. sense

The next day Mr. Whammy delivers him three law books, and a box filled with the stationary and organizational items he’d asked for. Light pulls them all out and arranges them in the drawers of a small desk in the corner that Light now feels comfortable walking to, without the possibility of his legs giving out. He figures that he’ll continue to feel stronger as the full moon approaches. That does seem to be a common theme, from what he’s gathered from Mr. Whammy.

 

Something to look forward to and something to dread, all at once. Nothing can just be nice in this place.

 

“Thank you,” he says as he sets his pens and highlighters neatly within reach. 

 

Mr. Whammy begins to head out the door, and it’s then that he remembers something else that he’d forgotten to ask about. Maybe because the answer was a little bit scary. But Light would rather know than not know, every time, even if the answer is unpleasant.

 

“Wait.” Light doesn’t look up from the book entirely, instead just peeking from the corner of his eye. Mr. Whammy stops in the doorway, so he continues, “What did you mean when you said ‘once I recover’?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Before. You said I’d go to the basement for my transformation and,  _ once I recover,  _ I’ll have more freedom.” Light reads over the seventh sentence again, going for a distracted tone. “The transformation is going to be difficult then, painful even. Am I right?”

 

Light hadn’t even considered that part of it before the phrase had been spoken by the old man, and since then it had nudged him again and again. He’d had a particularly ugly dream based on the possibilities, mixed with vague memories of the wolf with red eyes. He’d hoped, being a magical shift, that the discomfort would be minimal. But then, he knew next to nothing about magic, did he? So far it seemed to do more harm than good, at least in his case. Maybe wizards, who seem to have only positives related to their magical powers, saw it differently. 

 

Light doesn’t have a particularly high opinion of wizards, currently. It makes sense that they’re spoiled idiots. Even if magic isn’t inherently stupid, if these were the people in charge of using it, then it couldn’t do him much good. It hadn’t so far, anyway.

 

“I can’t know for sure, Light,” Mr. Whammy says, “But when he went to school here, it would take him a few days to recover, and that was ...with a potion meant to ease the process.”

 

“Working on that too, are you?” Light mutters, a little hatefully.

 

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Whammy says, still as kind and patient as ever in tone and demeanor. Light scoffs softly and tries not to think too much about things he can’t control, even if that’s practically impossible. 

 

* * *

 

“The other one, the one who bit me,” Light starts just after dinner that evening. He’d already filled a quarter of a notebook and was still reading, only taking breaks to eat and ask questions. “You never say his name.”

 

Mr. Whammy wipes at his mouth with a handkerchief, dabbing his mustache carefully. He always eats with Light for dinner, even though Light has never asked him to. He wonders if it’s part of him needing to be monitored, which makes him resent the man all over.

 

“Would you like to know his name?”

 

Light thinks for a moment, then ignores the question altogether. He supposes that it doesn’t matter right now, and he doesn’t want to play into Mr. Whammy’s cryptic nonsense. He hates that there’s so much information that he can only get from the man - how dependant he is on him, for everything from clothes to fresh sheets to food. He’ll find out the other werewolf’s name some other time. It doesn’t matter.

 

“Didn’t he take the potions you’re trying to recreate?”

 

“He may have,” Mr. Whammy confirms, “The issue is that he made them himself. I’m afraid that they’re quite specialized and the ingredients are tricky to brew. It isn’t part of our usual curriculum here.”

 

Why would it be? It only helps one student, after all. 

 

Light grinds his teeth briefly and decides he hates the aroma of tea that Mr. Whammy is always coming in smelling like. It’s gotten more potent every day, and even though he’s sure that has more to do with his senses heightening, it feels good to blame Mr. Whammy for it.

 

“...So he was a wizard too?”

 

“He was one of my students for a time, but he didn’t possess much active magic as most wizards,” Mr. Whammy explains. At least he’s willing to be candid about most things, even if he only seems to tell Light anything when he specifically asks. “He tended to concentrate on potions and runes. Stationary magic, rather than emitter magic, like spells and hexes.”

 

“Is that why even your best investigator can’t find him?” Light infers, “He’s using magic to hide?”

 

“That’s correct,” Mr. Whammy nods, beginning to collect the tray. “We believe that he’s using a series of runes to obscure his magical signature. He’s been quite clever -”

 

“Cleverer than your best investigator,” Light sniffs, “Just my luck.”

 

“I’ll let him know you say so,” Mr. Whammy chuckles softly, and then sobers a moment later. “We’re doing the best we can, my boy. We have a much better chance of finding him on the full moon, when his signature is strongest.”

 

_ Two weeks away now _ , Light reminds himself, a trickle of apprehension making its way down his spine. He doesn’t have faith in anyone involved with the reservation, but he does figure it’s his best chance to get the potions that he needs to ease the pain and retain his mind.

 

“The best you can, for a species you don’t have a single book about? For someone you won’t even let out of this stupid room?” Light sinks down among his pillows until Mr. Whammy disappears behind his book. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t working on potions at all. All he has to go on is Mr. Whammy’s word. “Right, well,  _ do  _ keep me in the loop.”

 

He hears Mr. Whammy sigh softly and then the door clicks shut. Quiet and still, he listens to the old man’s retreating footsteps as they fade down the hall, then down steps, then down another hall into a tiled room that Light supposes must be the kitchen. Every day his hearing gets a little better, along with his other senses, but  _ especially  _ hearing and smell. 

 

Light flips to a tabbed page in the center of the notebook and catalogs how far away Mr. Whammy managed to get before his footsteps faded entirely. He neatly outlines his own introspective findings and compares them to the last few days. As is the pattern, he has improved since yesterday, which was an improvement on the day before, and so on. 

 

He wonders if, soon, he’ll be able to hear conversations in the next room over, perhaps eventually on the first floor. He’s already heard other children playing, the faint chatter of conversation and laughter, already begun to smell what lunch is going to be before it arrives, so he figures that it’s only a matter of time. He hopes so. Gathering information through eavesdropping will be useful in every possible situation, so there very well may be an upside to lycanthropy after all.

 

* * *

 

“Is he in there?”

 

Light wakes up to a voice that seems to be coming from just outside his door.

 

“How should I know?”

 

A second voice, a little lower pitched. They still sound like kids though, perhaps a little younger than him, but he can’t be sure. One of them sounds a little girlish, but it could easily be a prepubescent boy.

 

Light sits up and rubs his eyes, reaching over to turn the light on. He breathes in deeply, trying to sort through the complex scent of new people. His nose wrinkles at how strong they smell, like active kids who don’t like bath time. One of them smells more like dirt and sunshine, the other smells more like snackfood and sweat. After a moment, Light has to cover his nose so that he doesn’t get overwhelmed by them, even through the door. Mr. Whammy’s gentle tea scent is much preferable.

 

He makes a mental note not to sniff so hard next time. 

 

“How should you know? Are you serious, Mello? This was all your idea and you aren’t even sure -” An exasperated sigh. “You know I’m up for breaking the rules, like, anytime, but we gotta have a plan.”

 

“Uh, this  _ is  _ the plan, Matt. Go see what Whammy’s hiding up here. I’ll unlock the door.”

 

“You know he’ll be able to trace it back to you.”

 

“So? Scared?”

 

“Whatever.”

 

The childish banter comes to a halt and Light tries to breathe through his mouth when he realizes that the door is starting to open. It creaks a little, like it always does, before swinging open smoothly and revealing two children, a couple years younger than Light. One of them has messy green hair, the other has shoulder-length blond hair. The green-haired one is wearing wrinkled clothes, goggles, and gloves. The blond one has dirt on his cheek tan skin, and a wild look in his eye.

 

“Hey, you’re just a kid!” The blond one exclaims, outraged.

 

“Older than you,” Light shoots back. “You’re not supposed to be here. Didn’t Mr. Whammy tell you it’s dangerous?”

 

“Technically, he only told us to mind our own business,” the green-haired one says. “But he’s right, Mello, we should -”

 

“We just got here,” the blond one, Mello, cuts him off and saunters into the room. Light is suddenly irritated that they’d enter his room without his permission, but he makes a mental correction - this isn’t  _ his  _ room, is it? It’s just where he’s staying for now. “Besides, he’s not dangerous.”

 

Light raises his eyebrows. “You don’t know that.”

 

“Sure I do, look around!” Mello spreads his arms. “You’re just a new kid. Nothing special about that. It doesn’t happen  _ often  _ but Linda joined us just last year.”

 

Light thinks he might be overcompensating, trying to make sure Light knows just how usual and not special at all he is. If only he knew there was nothing to be jealous about.

 

“Did you barge into her room too?” Light asks, in the same tone he’d used for Sayu when he’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t. Maybe a little more mocking than that; he quite likes Sayu, after all.

 

“Well, no, but Whammy wasn’t all hush hush about her neither,” Mello tells him, a haughtiness to his gate and tone that rubs Light the wrong way.

 

Even more so when he immediately goes to open the bedside table drawer, where all of Light’s notebooks have been neatly filed away for safekeeping. The room may not feel like his, but  _ that  _ sure as hell does. He’d spent hours and hours each day reading and carefully highlighting, organizing, note taking, anything that he thought might pertain to him or be useful to know in his unwilling future here. Not to mention the scientific diary he was keeping of his werewolf manifestations, meant for his eyes only. 

 

It’s the only scrap of anything he has to ground him, to the self he’s left behind, and to the family that created that person. For some kid to waltz in and act like he’s entitled to it -

 

Light catches the corner of the drawer as it opens and shuts it hastily. It’s quick enough that Mello’s middle finger gets caught in it and he pulls his hand back with a yelp. The drawer slams shut with a  _ crack _ , and the wood of the drawer splinters visibly.

 

“That, isn’t,  _ yours _ ,” Light snarls, enunciating each word viciously.

 

“...Come off it,” Mello tries to snap back, but his bravado seems to have fallen away. 

 

He cradles his hand and Light feels a pang of guilt. It doesn’t look like he’s bleeding, but hurting the first kid he comes into contact with and damaging what he was was just trying to protect doesn’t feel good at all. Frustration boils over in him and he feels a hot and awful sensation pushing up from his stomach and out of his mouth before he can stop it.

 

“How do you know I’m not something  _ nasty _ ?”

 

Mello pales a bit, but still doesn’t move away. “You’re just a kid -”

 

“How do you  _ know? _ ” Light’s voice drops ominously, pouring out the venom that had been marinating in him since the bite all at once. Mello’s eyes widen. “How do you know that I’m not a terrible creature, the kind so horrifying people don’t even dare write stories about me, the kind who’d masquerade as a harmless child and then  _ eat  _ you as soon as you got close enough?”

 

“Mello -” Matt whispers, stepping forward with his hand out, reaching for his friend.

 

“Boys!”

 

Mr. Whammy’s voice cuts through the haze of rage. Light’s eyes cut over to where he stands in the doorway, a more harrowing figure in his dark robes than the old man that eats dinner with him and smells faintly of tea. He moves smoothly, tray of food in his hands, putting himself between Light and the younger boy he’d been threatening a moment prior. 

 

The notion that he’d heard what Light had said strikes him, and starts sinking down his spine. Light glares at the peeling patch on the wall again, annoyed at the feeling. It wasn’t like Mello didn’t deserve it for trying to get into his things.

 

“Out,  _ now _ .” Mr. Whammy demands, looking down at Mello in a way that the blond seems accustomed too. The fear in his face shifts to a more casual nervousness. “You’ve caused enough trouble for today, don’t you think?”

 

“C’ _ mon _ , Mels,” Matt says, low and harsh, like he’s calling a particularly stubborn cat.

 

“But,” Mello argues, looking back over his shoulder at Light, then away again quickly. “But what -?”

 

“This is none of your concern. Now  _ go _ ,” Mr. Whammy shoos them, calm yet firm. “Light needs his rest.”

 

Mello releases a huff of air but starts out the door, grabbing Matt by the wrist to tug him along. His voice gains confidence as soon as he’s out of the room and Light’s line of sight.

 

“What does he even mean? Stupid Whammy. Ow! What was that for, Matt? I’m just saying, he was just a freak trying to freak us out - and he didn’t look tired or anything! Ow! Elbow me again, and I’ll -”

 

They bicker all the way down the hall, beginning to make fun of his name, like ‘Mello’ is so much better. Light forgets to keep track of how far away they get before he can no longer hear them, but he figures that Mr. Whammy will make for a more consistent measure anyway. By the time he tunes back in, their voices have faded into the distance, among perhaps a dozen or so other children. 

 

Mr. Whammy is quiet as he sets down Light’s breakfast tray. A heavy weight has settled in Light’s stomach, the momentary satisfaction he’d felt from scaring the pants off of Mello fading quickly. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, frowning down at his hands and watching Mr. Whammy deposit freshly laundered clothes on the foot of the bed. He pulls them from his droopy sleeves, like always, but Light isn’t entertained by the magical storage like he usually is.

 

“I didn’t really want to eat them, you know,” Light finally decides to say.

 

Mr. Whammy raises his eyes to meet Light’s. “I didn’t think you did.”

 

“They smelled gross,” Light mentions, sliding out of bed to sit at the desk for his meal. He feels a little more himself when he says, “You should make them shower more.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty happy with how this turned out!! please let me know what you think. :)
> 
> next chapter you'll meet near!


	4. thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pretty proud of Near's scene tbh. also i'm trying not to make the law stuff too boring but still get enough of it across to make sense. i'm happy with how this is shaping up so far. there are challenges and angst to come, but also some cute shit. also, more flashbacks to Light's life before Mu. 
> 
> coming up next is the full moon. please please please gimme that precious feedback, you guys.

The next week passes, monotonous yet methodical. Reading, note taking, and memorizing in between meals, with visits from Mr. Whammy throughout the day.

 

Once Light gets used to legal terminology, things go more quickly, and he begins to feel like he’s making progress. He’d only read a few of his father’s law books, and never so much at once. The laws aren’t all that different from what he knows, but Mu’s often have subsets applied to different creature categories, weaknesses, and abilities. Some laws make no sense unless applied to mer-cities or the vampire coves, for instance, and others apply onto to magical artifacts and the restrictions on trade. There is also an entire Transportation Code book that seems almost entirely to do with centaur regulations, with only a small blurb for broomsticks, winged beings, and flying carpets. Light is still working his way through that one little by little - it’s dreadfully boring, and not the most relevant to his case.

 

Unsurprisingly, immigration is more strict than he’d ever heard of anywhere in the real world - the borders are closed both ways, no exceptions. It goes into the halfway houses, even mentions Whammy’s House a few times, and trial periods like he’d been told, and then a possible examination, on a case by case basis. It then goes into what the examination can and cannot consist of, as well as summarizing several cases in which the Advisories have decided on a test for a new immigrant, and what those exams had entailt. Light isn’t too worried about it - he was a particularly strong test taker.

 

There are entire chapters of the book  just outlining the various wardlines, the magical repercussions for passing them (very unpleasant stuff, from disgusting boils to temporary catatonic shock, depending on where one crossed and how deep one ventured). The ultimate punishment is indefinite incarceration until trial, which all seems to be handled by the Advisories.

 

Light has an entire notebook where he writes anything related to the Advisories, but like most things in Mu, there is very little transparency to speak of.

 

His senses noticeably improve over a series of days, until he can smell Mr. Whammy coming before he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, and can pick out Matt and Mello’s voice when they’re playing in what Light presumes is a courtyard at the other end of the estate. Food gets trickier too, enough that he can’t stand too much spice or salt, and sugar is practically out of the question entirely.

 

He’s also begun doing tests of his physical strength, after slamming the drawer shut on Mello. He hadn’t considered that as a possible upside, but sure enough, he’s able to lift a little more each day. He starts with the bedside table, then the desk, and now he’s able to lift his bed with just one arm, if he can position himself correctly beneath it. His stamina has been increasing as well, the early days of taking multiple naps behind him. Now he makes it through the whole day with an abundance of energy, almost too much. He wishes he could get out of the room to run it off, but has to settle for jogging in place so he doesn’t get too antsy.

 

Mr. Whammy seems oblivious to his tests, so Light figures he probably isn’t spying on him. He’s pretty sure he’d be able to, considering a whole magical surveillance chapter he’d read about a few days prior. Either he’s giving Light privacy, or he’s very good at pretending to - Light still isn’t entirely convinced.

 

“Have you found anything interesting in your reading?” Mr. Whammy asks him one evening after they eat dinner together in quiet, which Light has learned to reluctantly enjoy. He’s even begun bringing tea for him after Light had mentioned wanting to try some. He doesn’t actually hate the smell so much anymore - and it actually cleanses his pallet nicely after a meal. Otherwise he’s left tasting it until he brushes his teeth, and the mintiness of toothpaste is beginning to be a bit much.

 

“Plenty,” Light answers after a moment, taking a long sip of his tea. “Did you know that it’s legal to discriminate against magical creatures that the Advisories has listed as violent, or even just uncontrollable?”

 

“...I did,” Mr. Whammy admits, his voice a little hesitant. But at least he’s learned not to look so sad about it, which never puts Light in a good mood.

 

“And that it’s basically up to them to decide what that means,” Light continues, this time peeking up at the wizard through the fall of his hair expectantly.

 

“We are at the mercy of the Advisories’ judgement, it’s true,” Mr. Whammy concedes. “That’s more of a problem the closer to get to town than it is here.”

 

Light furrows his brow slightly. “Are you saying I shouldn’t ever go into town?”

 

“No, of course not. When your introductory period at our house is over, you may go wherever you please.” A ‘but’ seems to dangle at the end of his sentence, but Light doesn’t pay it any mind.

 

“Good, because I’m not staying here after I’m free to go,” Light tells him, dragging a highlighter over a passage he intends to come back to. “As interesting as it would be to learn magic, I can’t get anything done if I don’t go to where the people are.”

 

“What is that you want to get done, Light?”

 

Light takes a moment to finish his line of bright yellow.

 

“Plenty.”

 

Mr. Whammy doesn’t pry further.

 

* * *

 

“We haven’t been able to replicate either potion as of yet, but we’re still working diligently on them,” Mr. Whammy assures him four days before the full moon.

 

Light isn’t reassured, but he also knows that being ungrateful isn’t going to do anyone any favors. He can be frustrated and resentful on his own time, which he has tons of now that the moon is so close to being full. He only sleeps a couple hours a night, the rest of it is spent studying his previous notes or creating new ones. He’s stocked on notebooks and pens.

 

He glances at the empty corner of the room near the en suite, where the patch of peeling wallpaper is located.

 

“Is there anything you need from me, my boy?” Mr. Whammy’s eyes are a little bright, as though he sees that Light has something he wants. “You never ask for anything, except for more books or supplies. It’s by job to make your life here easier, you realize.”

 

Light taps his fingers on the cover of the book in his lap. “I’d like a bookshelf.”

 

The light in Mr. Whammy’s eye dies a little.

 

“Is that all?”

 

“I don’t like the way they look, just stacked about like this,” Light opens his hands, indicating, though he doesn’t need to. There are neat stacks of books on the shelf and bedside table. Neat, but stacks nonetheless.

 

He’s been reluctant to ask for a bookshelf, partly because it feels a little like admitting that this room belongs to him now. He decides he can know for himself that it isn’t, in exchange for some tidiness.

 

At his request, Mr. Whammy fabricates a bookshelf out of a table that had been in storage, leaving only briefly to fetch it. Light had watched the whole time as the man forms it in hand movements, like some kind of colorful sign language. He draws his hand high to make the wood stretch upward and straight, then flicks his fingers toward his palm to pull shelves out bit by bit. He even twists his fingers around to smooth out the edges and corners, so it looks polished. It's fascinating to see, as magic always is.

 

Light is on his ninth law book now, with his tenth set aside already. Once the bookshelf is complete, he sets all eight of the completed books on the bottom shelf, then lines up his notebooks and binders on the top shelf for easy access. There's still half of the top shelf open though, and it reminds him of another thing he's mulling over. He glances at the wizard, who still looks melancholy for some reason that Light doesn't care about.

 

“I’d also like to learn a little about magic,” Light tells him. He tries not to ask for too much at once. He doesn’t want the man to go thinking that he likes it here, after all. “Are there any books I’m allowed to read about it? Or is that just for your students?”

 

Mr. Whammy looks pleased. “Some are restricted to students, but there are some I can offer you. There’s a set that I recommend to all of my our new pupils that will be perfect for you.”

 

“I’d also like to meet the student working on the potion,” Light tells him, figuring that there isn’t much time before the moon to fit that in. He might as well get it over with, since Mr. Whammy seems to be in a giving mood and he’s already asked for two things more than planned. “I’d like to thank them.”

 

Well, that, but also so that Light intends to pick their brain about potions related to werewolves and what’s _so_ difficult about making them. If he studied up on magic, he could probably figure out how to do it himself, with a little time. Then he’d have a brewer he could actually trust.

 

Mr. Whammy hesitates this time, but winds up nodding in approval.

 

“I can ask them if they’re up to meeting with you tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” Light says dismissively, before settling down into his pillows with his book once more.

 

-

 

The next afternoon during recess, Light smells someone new approaching his room along with the familiar scent of tea. He knows it’s recess time without looking at the clock, because he can hear the the children playing in the yard clearly now without even trying. He can even pick out what Matt and Mello are saying rather clearly whenever he tunes in carefully enough.

 

He’s never been able to hear anything useful, like Mr. Whammy speaking to the Advisories about him, but it’s not for lack of trying. Mr. Whammy seems to have soundproofed his room, because even though Light can hear almost anything in all of the house by now, the moment the door shuts behind Mr. Whammy, there’s nothing.

 

It’s probably some kind of spell. He’ll have to look into it when he gets around to the set of magic books that now waits for him on the top shelf of his bookcase. There are seven of them, each a few hundred pages long. The first in the series is a basic overview, and the other six split up into a different category of magic. He’s excited to read them, but he intends to finish tenth law book first. He should be able to complete it before the full moon.

 

He wonders if all werewolves dread the full moon this much. He imagines they do. All _one_ of them.

 

The new smell doesn’t have the same icky tinges that Mello and Matt’s did. Instead the person smells very fresh, almost like nothing at all, in fact. There’s faint notes of what he thinks might be pine, but it’s subtle enough to not be overbearing.

 

When the door opens, a very small, very white boy is hovering there. Literally hovering, small toes less than a foot from the floor. He’s very pale, with curly white hair, and draped in soft white pajamas. Everything about him is soft looking, in fact, from his cherubically chubby frame to his round cheeks and little hands. He looks like he’s about four-years-old.

 

“Hello,” the small, floating boy says without any inflection whatsoever.

 

 _How old are you?_ Is what Light wants to ask, vehemently, but he holds back. He’s fairly sure the answer isn’t what it should be anyway: old enough to entrust his consciousness and physical wellbeing to.

 

“Hello,” Light returns, reverting back to mirroring just to get through the surge of anger.

 

“I’m Near.”

 

Light blinks. The boy hasn’t even left the doorway.

 

“Near to what?”

 

“That’s my name. Near. Don’t apologize. It’s a common issue.”

 

“Ah,” Light says, offering a polite smile. At least the boy doesn’t talk like he’s a four-year-old. That’s slightly reassuring. “My name is Light. I can relate.”

 

“Mr. Whammy told me you wanted to meet me,” Near says, curling a finger into his hair and tugging. He doesn’t make eye contact, which Light finds a little unnerving.  “I know I’m not what you expected.”

 

“Not at all,” Light lies. “I wasn’t expecting anything in particular.”

 

“You think I’m too young,” Near continues. “Most people do. I’m not as young as I look. I’m ten, but I’m a pixie, so being small comes with the territory.”

 

“I see,” Light says, noting the shiny flutter of what he figures are wings behind Near’s back, hence the hovering. “It’s nice to meet you. I just wanted to thank you for your hard work.”

 

“Oh.” Near’s eyes flicker to meet Light’s briefly, brow furrowed, then away again. “That’s fine. I like puzzles. It’s something to do.”

 

 _Puzzles?_ _Something to do?_ Light fumes quietly. _Nice to know I’m being taken seriously._

 

“If you’re ten, then you’re about the same age as the two who broke in here then.”

 

“They aren’t so bad,” Near shrugs one shoulder. “They’re mostly curious about the human world. Most of us have never been there.”

 

That makes sense, Light figures, though it doesn’t make him any less annoyed with them. Most of the immigration laws had to do with vampires, werewolves, and shifters, with a few clauses for those that were turned into another being due to the effects of a potion or curse- both highly illegal. There wouldn’t be many people in Mu that had come from the human world, let alone other children.

 

“Don’t tell Mello I said that though, or he’ll knock over my matchbox tower, and I’m so very close to finishing it. I’ll be miffed all week.”

 

“Right, my lips are sealed,” Light says, refraining from rolling his eyes.

 

“You didn’t just want to thank me,” Near tells him next, the perceptiveness making Light frown. “You want to know what’s so difficult about these potions in particular. You must think I’m not trying very hard.”

 

“That’s not how I would have put it,” Light responds diplomatically.

 

“Why not?” Near tilts his head to the side, clearly confused. “That’s how you must feel about it.”

 

An eerie feeling creeps up the back of Light’s neck. “Can you -?”

 

“Read your mind? No. People are always asking that. Pixies can't read minds. Some fae, maybe, but no. That’s just how I would think about it,” Near sighs. “I’m annoyed that I haven’t been able to crack it, and I’m not the one that has to deal with it. Logically, you would have to be annoyed as well. You have no reason to trust me.”

 

He shrugs again and continues.

 

“I’m the best at potion brewing, but you don’t know that. I’m the best at almost every type of magic in school, except emitter magic, but potions especially. Mr. Whammy has assisted me each evening, but we aren’t any closer to figuring it out that we were when you arrived.”

 

Light is grudgingly pleased to hear that Mr. Whammy has been supervising the _toddler_ he’d left in charge of his _health_. He supposes that might be an unfair judgement, but he holds onto it just the same. It’s a much easier emotion to feel than others he’s stored up for the last three weeks.

 

“So,” Light says, “what’s ‘so difficult’ about these, then?”

 

Near nods.

 

“Consciousness Potions are about timing. Every step must happen at specific intervals, and without a proper recipe, there is no way to know how long to let it simmer, or at what stage of decay an ingredient should be added, or how long it should be stirred, or if it needs to sit for a number of days before the chemical effect is applicable -”

 

“You’ve just been relying on trial and error then,” Light interrupts, feeling a headache coming on. "How do you even measure yourselves, if you don't even know what end result you're looking for?"

 

“We've been transfiguring mice into less intelligent beings and recording their cognitive responses to various tests under the affects of our potion attempts." Near tells him dryly, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling. “A few have been mildly successful, but there's no way of knowing how it will transfer to you. For the pain potion, there is a fairly simple base pain remedy that will help, after you turn back.”

 

“But _during_ ,” Light prompts, though he feels as though he already partly knows the answer.

 

“Lycanthropy’s nature is transformative magic, powered by absorbing the moon’s magical aura rather than through your own intrinsic energy source.” Near says, which surprises Light slightly. It sounds like something someone might read in a textbook, and his first thought is that Mr. Whammy has held out on him. “It’s my hypothesis that werewolves have no inherent magic of their own, at least not by virtue of being a werewolf.”

 

“How do you know that?” Light finds himself demanding, a little too quickly. “I haven’t read that anywhere, and Mr. Whammy told me there was no literature on werewolves."

 

Near blinks at him slowly, twice.

 

“It’s my _hypothesis_ ,” He repeats, slower still and with more emphasis than anything else he's said, as if Light might not understand the word. Light feels his teeth grind. “Based on what I know of magic and scraps of information I gathered from Beyond.”

 

 _Beyond_. It’s a name, Light knows immediately. Just as quickly, he knows who the name belongs to. His heart thuds hard against his ribs and somehow against his skull all at once.

 

“As I was saying,” Near intones. “Pain potions that you take before the transformation will not affect the wolf. Even if you were to ingest a pain potion in your wolf form -”

 

Light understands before it comes out of Near’s mouth, his shoulders going tense so that he won’t visibly deflate, which is what he feels like doing.

 

“- even the strongest pain potion would be absorbed too quickly for it to have any significant effect.”

 

“Right,” Light breathes. “That makes sense.”

 

“Before you ask,” Near says tiredly, like he’s already done with talking. He still hasn’t moved out of the open doorway. “I don’t know anything more about werewolves than what I’ve described for you already, and even that is based on conjecture. He didn’t talk to me much. He mostly muttered to himself.”

 

“Excellent,” Light drawls, so glad to know that the only other werewolf known to Mu was a total freak, because of _course_ we was. It probably wasn’t a surprise to anyone that he had escaped and attacked a child - they’d probably all just said ‘about time’. They were probably waiting for Light to do something crazy too, just so they could say it about him as well and be very smug about doing so.

 

“Is it?” Near asks, apparently not catching onto the sarcasm. “If you say so. There are several top tier pain potions for after you transform back, but we'll want to hold off on testing the Consciousness Trials until we know we have the pain potion down, for obvious reasons.”

 

_Wouldn't want you to be able to feel every excruciating moment, after all._

 

“Thanks,” Light says again, still not feeling very grateful at all.

 

“Can I go now?” Near tugs on his hair yet again, the nervous tick picking up the longer he stayed.

 

“Yeah,” Light confirms, flicking his hand at the door in hopes that - in true wizarding fashion - it would slam in the pixie boy’s face. Like with everything else in Mu, he was disappointed. The door stayed open and he had to watch Near lazily float away. In the end, he had to get out of bed to shut the door manually.

 


	5. moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: the aftermath of the full moon is unpleasant. not violent, but there's a some what graphic description of physical trauma.

The days between Light and the full moon close much too rapidly, despite how little he’s been sleeping. He finishes the law lawbook the morning prior, convinced that they are getting more boring as he continues - which doesn’t make much sense, considering they have no particular order. 

 

This one dealt with real estate and taxation, which had been difficult to understand thanks to the sheer amount of nuanced math and incoherently complex economics involved. He knew more about what property was the most valuable and least valuable - Elvish Estates and Goblin Grotto, respectively - but that wasn’t of very much use. He’d taken notes but couldn’t for the life of him think of why he would need to use it. He wouldn’t be purchasing property any time soon, and there was more more relevant law to familiarize himself with. 

 

The previous book had been devoted to business law and healer/brewer malpractice. While it was fairly interesting to know just what grounds he could possibly sue Near under if his potion should go wrong, he doubted that it would be easy to find someone eager to represent a werewolf in a revenge case against a pixie who looked like an innocent little baby, no matter  _ how  _ condescending he was. The business portion outlined several ways business owners could and could not discriminate against dissonant specie.

 

Apparently, some places used to line their doorways with silver to keep those who were sensitive to it out. It gave examples of several cases in which businesses had won the right to keep such defenses up, much of the defense simply referring back to the Great Beast War.

 

The same book reiterated some of the dreadful tax laws, as well as those having to do with death. Death and sickness were the most scarce sections, however - death seemed to be a lot less common in Mu than in the human world, which made sense. Most illness seemed to be due to cursed artifacts or poisonous plants, from what he could tell. 

 

Natural unhealthiness was rather rare and seemed to only exist for specific types of creatures. There was a fungal infections that mermaids, selkies, and sirens could get, heat exhaustion fairly common in vampires, and something that seemed like the approximation of the flu, but for centaurs and other demi-humanoids.

 

Light goes back over his notes rather than starting on a book he knows he won’t finish, even if he’s eager to delve into magical learning. It does seem like it will be much more interesting than law, and probably won’t make him want to tear the pages out either. But he’s trying to distract himself from where he’ll be the next evening, and he doesn’t want to go into a fresh book with his mind half elsewhere.

 

Mr. Whammy is more concerned than usual with his kind, infuriating looks and so Light is more curt with him than ever, burying himself in his notes fervently. He doesn’t say much at all when Mr. Whammy eats dinner with him, though he decides to blame it on how stupidly hungry he is all the time now.

 

Before he goes to bed, he writes down catalogs the physical effects of the almost full moon. His senses are enhanced exponentially from even just the week prior. He can smell where everyone else in the tower is, can hear Matt and Mello playing a game when they’re supposed to be sleeping. His eyesight is too sharp, enough that he can see every thread in his blanket, every particle of dust on the crown molding, every scuff in the hardwood floor, without any effort. Closing his eyes barely helps at all; his mind restless with the need to burn off the energy the moon is giving him, and closing the curtains to it fills him with longing. Sleep is impossible that night.

 

He gives up and instead exercises into the morning, then showers and studies some more to give his mind something a little less anxiety inducing to focus on. 

 

* * *

 

It’s Sayu’s first day of school, and she’s vibrating with excitement and nerves. She insisted that he be late to his own school so that he could see her off. Light has never really been good around little kids, or at least, he’s never felt natural around them. He barely puts up with kids his own age. Sayu is his sister, and she practically worships him, even if they’re nothing alike. He agreed to come along because her long string of ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease _ pleasepleaseplease’  _ was agitating, and also because he’s a good big brother. Still, he feels decidedly out of place among the tiny, loud, messy people his sister is among.

 

His mom talks to the teacher briefly, then shows Sayu where her cubby is.

 

Sayu looks around, deciding who to approach, while Light waits by the door and smooths out his school jacket, straightening his cuffs. It’s the first year that he doesn’t have to wear the version of his school uniform with a skirt and a bow. He’s more preoccupied with his appearance, and his own stomach full of nerves, than how his sister is feeling.

 

When he looks up, Sayu is looking up at him with big, expectant eyes. Behind her is his mom, expectant too, leaning forward and smiling. She looks a little worried too, perhaps for them both.

 

“Do you want a hug goodbye?” Light asks her, opening his arms. He’s resigned himself to straightening his jacket out yet again when she’s done.

 

She giggles and sprints to him, squeezing him around the middle for a moment before breaking away again and reciting loudly, for the entire room to hear.

 

“See you later, little tater! In a while, sunny smile! In a shake, birthday cake! After a while, puppy pile! In a blizzard, wrinkly wizard! Say goodbye, pumpkin pie!”

 

Sayu looks up at him with big eyes. His mother covers her mouth with her hand to hid her grin.

 

“Not too soon, sparkly moon.” Light sighs, completing the intricate goodbye they’d gotten from a silly children’s book that Light used to read to her.

 

Satisfied, Sayu spins around and sprints over to a group of girls playing jump rope.

 

* * *

 

He’d never gotten to say goodbye to her. That’s what Light thinks about when Mr. Whammy shows him down to the basement an hour before sunset. 

 

He hadn’t been able to say goodbye to his parents either, but they weren’t going to miss him as much as Sayu would. He shuts off the image of her face as it floats to the forefront of his mind. Thinking about his family wasn’t going to do him any good. Now now, and possibly not ever. There’s a reason he had never brought them up again with Mr. Whammy after learning he could never contact them again, and it wasn’t because he was at peace with that. No matter how much he let himself miss them, it wouldn’t change the rules, and he wasn’t in the practise of feeling useless emotions. 

 

The basement is large and almost entirely empty. Mr. Whammy explains that this his how Beyond kept it. There is nothing but open space save for in the very center of the room, links of metal fetters in a haphazard pile. Light eyes the chains, follows them from manacles to where they are bolted to the floor. 

 

“They certainly look sturdy enough,” Light says as he approaches them, picking up one shackle and closing it around his wrist. It immediately shrinks, so that there’s no wiggle room to be had. “Smart.”

 

“Light.”

 

“Don’t apologize again,” Light mutters, avoiding eye contact as the wizard closes the cuffs around his wrists. They clang shut with finality. “They’re precautions. I get it.”

 

Mr. Whammy agrees, snapping the last one around his ankle. “There are enchantments to make sure these are form fitting at all times, but they should do as little harm as possible.”

 

“Oh thank goodness,” Light replies flatly.

 

“I’ll be here as soon as it’s over,” Mr. Whammy promises him quietly, hesitating for another moment before sweeping out of the room. 

 

Light is relieved to be left alone to his anticipation, and not, all at once. There is a single window much too small for Light to fit through even in his human form, if he could somehow get out of the restraints, which he can’t. The window is at ground level, so he can see wisps of grass through it, but not much else. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he talks himself through a list of codes he’s teaching himself to recite from memory. He can’t have his notes here, so this will have to do for entertainment, if it can be called that.

 

The light grows dimmer with every passing minute. His memories of this time end before daylight does.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t as though Light hates nature. The great outdoors, as his father embarrassingly refers to it over and over, is actually pretty pleasant. The air is crisp and the colors are vibrant. The sounds are all gentle things, the ripple of the water from the creek, the chirps of birds, the leaves rustling with the wind.

 

But sleeping on the ground isn’t comfortable and bugs are disgusting. Light had also allocated all of this weekend to studying, for exams he’s certain his father will want him to do well on, so it isn’t his fault that he’s not participating as much as his parents would prefer. They’d made this weekend about them, and while Light wasn’t about to create drama by refusing to come, he also wasn’t going to risk his exam scores just because his father wanted to take a break for the first time in a decade.

 

Light is reading in a hammock when his dad approaches him with fish poles in hand.

 

“Sayu is napping and your mother is putting lunch together,” Soichiro tells him. Light looks over at the picnic table, where Sachiko is busily pulling food out of the cooler.

 

“Great, I’m starving,” Light says, flipping a page.

 

“I could teach you to fish,” His father offers, finishing awkwardly. “Son.”

 

Light looks up from his book.

 

“I already know how to fish,” he tells his dad. “Last year I went on a scouting trip with one of my classmates, Kaito. His dad taught me.”

 

He didn’t like it. Worms are gross, and so is watching fish flounder as they die. It makes Light uncomfortable, but he does technically know how to do it. 

 

“I see,” Soichiro responds, “I didn’t realize.”

 

He feels a little flicker of guilt when his father deflates slightly, but he shakes the feeling away. This is just the kind of relationship they have. He’s proud of his father, and his father is proud of him, but they haven’t. So there are things that other parents have taught him, and things he’s taught himself, because Soichiro has always been so busy with work and Sachiko has been busy with Sayu. 

 

There’s no reason for Light to feel guilty about how their family dynamic functions. He doesn’t need to be taken care of, or have his hand held, or be told to do his homework. He’s easy, but he expects a certain level of autonomy in exchange. He shouldn’t have to feel bad just because his dad wants to actively parent for one weekend out of the year, especially when he’d had no say in the matter.

 

“Sorry, dad,” Light amends, already in his book again. “Maybe tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Light feels feral even after the sun comes up.

 

Maybe it’s because he can’t think of anything outside of the mind-numbing pain he’s in.  Every other function is being overridden by the terrible sensation of being forced back into a smaller space than he was in the second previous, over and over. He’s gasping and writhing, like his body is something to escape from, like he’s dying rather than just waking.

 

The worst of it is in his bones. He only remembers a little bit of the transformation, the way his limbs and spine had begun to stretch so much that he’d felt violently nauseous. It’s like the feeling of a tooth scraping against silverware, or perhaps even snapping in half, but everywhere, all at once, and for a prolonged period of time. 

 

It hurts so much that it echoes, a sensation layered on sensation, it hurts down to the marrow of him.

 

He hears sobbing echoing off of the walls, and it’s pitiful, a garbled mess that sounds more like retching than proper crying. Oh, maybe he’s vomiting too. The rest of his senses don’t work properly, so the spreading wetness beneath him could be anything - sweat, tears, blood, vomit. Only some of those make sense, but he can’t think why, he can’t think anything at all. 

 

His vision goes dark, and he’s so, so relieved to be anywhere but inside himself.

 

* * *

 

It seems like only a second passes and he wakes up to a terrible sound, like his own skull creaking in his head or the moan of some wretched, undead thing trying to say it’s first word.

 

Oh. No. His brain manages to correct itself. That’s just him trying to call for his mom with whatever is left of his jaw after it’s been crunched back into a human shape. 

 

His tongue hurts, his teeth hurt, he’s pretty sure his eyelids hurt. Not a single inch of him is at peace. Something hard and cold presses against his mouth and brushes against teeth, his teeth, though they don’t really feel like his, and he feels the agony ring down to his toenails.

 

“....I know, I know, Light, shhh, child, please, shhh, you need to drink.”

 

It hurts to swallow, too, but he doesn’t think the voice is lying to him. Or else, if it’s poison, at least this will finally be over with. 

 

He’s wrong about that. The first potion eases the pain enough for his brain to actually sort through the sheer amount of it that he’s being subjected to, everywhere and all at once. His mouth is being held open as he manages to struggle, no longer imobile from the weight of his anguish. He’s pretty sure he manages to dig his nails into the man’s flesh, but he doesn’t know where, just that something gives and there’s warm wetness dripping down his hand.

 

He can hear himself crying more clearly now, can feel terrible words and sounds on his tongue as he kicks and screams against the man holding him. He doesn’t feel like himself, he doesn’t feel sane, everything feels wrong and like it will never be right again. The hateful words that spill out of him through childish bawls and animalistic growls barely register as he’s saying them, slipping through the cracks in his brain as soon as they’re uttered.

 

_ I hate you, I hate this, I hate this place, I hate my body, want my mom, let me go, it hurts, make it stop, please, don’t go, it hurts, help me, want my mom, hurts, it hurts, ihateyouihateyouihateyou - _

 

By the third potion he chokes down, he’s passing out again.

 

* * *

 

Each time Light wakes up from then on, it is in a now familiar room, aching all over. The ache is deeper than the one he had awoken to when this room was strange to him, but more bearable now.

 

Mr. Whammy is there to tip another potion into his mouth.

 

Light wakes several times to his fist clenched in the wizards dark robes, as if ensuring that the man can’t leave him. It makes his knuckles throb, but it’s nothing compared to the rest of it, and somehow he feels like it would be worse to let go. He’s embarrassed, when he has a mind to be, but doesn’t bother prying his fingers away. It’s better than ripping into the man himself again, if that even really happened. 

 

He doesn’t know how many times he looks at Mr. Whammy through his lashes (his eyes just don’t seem to open all the way, he’s just so  _ tired)  _ to assess the damage, only to find him unharmed. 

 

He’ll either successfully forget, along with the worst of what he’d said and did in the basement, or he’ll pretend hard enough to convince himself he has. 

 

* * *

 

Light sleeps until the soreness has mostly faded. It’s worst in his back, so even when he doesn’t immediately pass out after taking a pain potion, he lies in bed as still as possible. His spine must have contorted the most. Perhaps he’d even gained vertebrae, and then lost them again in the aftermath. 

 

At some point, Light had stopped holding onto Mr. Whammy’s robes, but the wizard is still sitting by him nonetheless. Light hates him for it, and for seeing him the way he’d been seen.

 

But he has to ask.

 

“I scratched you,” is what Light means to say, but his throat is dry and coarse. It comes out: “Iscrrch?”

 

“Don’t worry, my boy, it would have to be a bite while in your wolf form,” Mr. Whammy tells him with a smile, “I won’t be joining you in the basement anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

 

That wasn’t really what Light was asking, but Mr. Whammy seems well enough if he’s joking about it. Instead of clarifying his concern, his regret, and adding to the mortification of his whole ordeal, Light gulps down as much water as he can before Mr. Whammy withdraws it. 

 

“Slowly, slowly, we don’t want you to get sick again.”

 

Light resolves never to bring up the morning after the full moon again. If he can convince Mr. Whammy that he’s forgotten about it, the closer he’ll be to convincing himself, and they’ll both be better off for it.

 

* * *

 

The worst thing about the lack of information on lycanthropy is that Light won’t know even know if it gets better over time. Mr. Whammy speculates that it will, that his body will get used to transforming over time. It’s apparently uncomfortable for shifters in the beginning too, especially turned shifters. 

 

_ They don’t absorb magic though _ , Light thinks. They have their own source of magic, according to the the brief rundown of magical beings in the first installment of the Initiate Magic textbook set. He’s fairly sure that’s why his body had taken so badly to it. Coming from being completely non-magical and then being thrown into a transformation with which he had no skills to recover from had made recovery more difficult than it likely should have been. 

 

It’s likely that Beyond, considering he did have some magical ability, didn’t experience as much pain as Light had. His magical core, as the textbook had mentioned, was able to protect him from the worst of it. 

 

He hadn’t been dumped back into a useless body.

 

The moon, in its infinite cruelty, had brought him along with it’s magical current and then abandoned Light in his fragile mortal shell while it waned away in peace.

 

“ _ You’ve gone through a trauma, _ ” Mr. Whammy had said, pressing a cool wet towel to his forehead. It was meant to comfort him, to let him know what he was feeling was okay.

 

Nothing was okay, and Light isn’t feeling much of anything now that he’s tucked away the humiliating parts. He’d been hurt, but he was all healed up now, on day three, and he could begin working on discovering a potion for himself. Trauma implied some kind of setback, and while that might have been true for his physical form, he refused to consider that his mind had been compromised as well.

 

If he were truly and completely honest with himself, he might agree with Mr. Whammy. But that would mean admitting that he and that babbling, sobbing, seizing lump on the floor of the basement begging for his mother to save him were one in the same. 

 

Nothing about Mu is truly and completely honest though, and so Light adapts accordingly.

 

* * *

 

Light eats ravenously as soon as he’s up to it. Mr. Whammy has to retrieve at least seconds for every meal before his stomach is satisfied, and that’s with huge portions to begin with. His stomach seems to have no problem adapting to the quantity, despite having gone days without a proper meal. Food also seems to taste better than usual, though he won’t admit that to the wizard. His senses are coming back to him as his recovery continues, so he starts salivating as soon as he smells anything cooking in the kitchen.

 

He tells Mr. Whammy not to stay for dinner just so he doesn’t have to worry about manners. Also so that he doesn’t have to feel whatever it is he’s trying not to feel in Mr. Whammy’s presence. 

 

Right now things are too fresh to face him like he used to. He knows he’ll get used to it. 

 

He writes down everything that he remembers about his transformation in a new notebook, trying to stick to what is measurable so that it will be easily compared to future full moons. He rates the pain, describes the locations that seem most affected, his ability to move or lack thereof when he wakes, and how each pain potion improves his state of being. He describes his lack of appetite following the transformation and then the sudden increase as soon as the pain had become manageable. 

 

He does not record his reactions. It simply isn’t relevant.

 

The nightmares aren’t relevant either.

 

* * *

 

“I need to study here,” Light tells Mr. Whammy when he brings him dinner the following evening. “I wasn’t being realistic when I said I’d leave right away.”

 

He couldn’t go anywhere if he was going to have to be locked up once a month and then out of commission for almost three full days prior. He couldn’t even make his own pain potions yet. 

 

Tomorrow he would leave the room for the first time, he’d decided. Perhaps he’d let Mr. Whammy give him a tour, and then explore on his own. The trip down to the basement hadn’t told him much about the property - the stairwell was just a few meters down the hall, which Light supposed was why this room had been picked out to begin with. Mr. Whammy had probably had to levitate him back to his room, would likely have to in the future, and Light didn’t want anyone seeing him like that by chance.

 

“There’s an admissions process,” Mr. Whammy says stoically, raising an eyebrow down at him. Light’s mouth pulls tight in surprise, gaze flickering up from his notebook. “Though you might be able to find someone to recommend you. Faculty would be especially impressive.”

 

Oh, he’s being teased. Light feels his mouth twitch just a bit, but he doesn’t let it turn into a smile. He doesn’t want Mr. Whammy to go on feeling too triumphant or hopeful, even if he has decided to study here for the time being.

 

“I’ll only stay as long as I need,” Light tells him, opening the fourth installment on the bed, the one on potion brewing. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what Near told me about my lack of magical core.”

 

Mr. Whammy is frowning now, looking down at the book with apprehensive curiosity. Light turns the book toward him, tapping the top of the page.

 

“I think the key to the pain potion will be a supplementary potion that will allow me to fabricate my own magical core, on a temporary basis,” Light explains. “It says on this page that absorbent magic isn’t really magic at all, it’s more like a black hole that takes any magic”

 

“Yes,” Mr. Whammy confirms, musingly, “It can be used in spells and potions to consume curses, if the associated countercurse.”

 

“The wolf absorbs magic too quickly to benefit from pain potions. Even if you could fabricate a consciousness potion, it might not even work,” Light says, closing the book again and setting it aside. “At least not as I am. If I can bolster my magical core with something, the pull shouldn’t be so strong that it eats up potions before they can take effect.”

 

The wizard’s face goes a little slack, surprise and unease crossing his face.

 

“Such a potion might fall under magical state altering,” he tells Light after a moment’s consideration, the lines on his face deepening. “While I’m aware you wouldn’t be fully or permanently making yourself a new magical being, such potions are highly regulated -”

 

“Yes,” Light cuts him off, meeting his eye. “I’ve read about that. But those regulations are almost entirely to prevent unwarranted immigration to Mu, isn’t that right? I’m already a resident. Even if I were to permanently alter myself somehow -”

 

Mr. Whammy frowns.

 

“- which is not at all my intent,” Light clarifies, opening his hands. “I’m not adding to the population.”

 

“You’d be asking them to make an exception for you,” Mr. Whammy tells him, his face back to a carefully controlled state. Light knows what he’s asking, and he knows how loathe most people will be to give it to him, of all people. 

 

“I know what I’d be asking, Mr. Whammy, but unless Near is able to crack this first,” Light begins, trying not to show how little faith he has in that happening. “Or, if we find my assailant and he gives up his recipe, this might be my only option.”

 

Light’s tone is passionate but not desperate. Still, Mr. Whammy looks at him like he’s looking at a scared little boy and not someone making a sound argument with confidence. Light tries not to scowl.

 

“It’s going to be difficult to convince them, but that’s why I’ll need to speak to the Advisories as soon as possible, to get them to approve it. Or have you present my case, if they won’t meet with me directly, but I’m fairly confident that if I speak to them, I can”

 

Mr. Whammy pauses for a long moment, regarding Light over his glasses, and then sighs softly. 

 

“You are something, aren’t you, Light?”

 

“I will be,” Light answers, staring him down, waiting for his affirmation. 

 

“Alright,” the wizard concedes. “You should know that there is already a potion in existence that we might be able to modify, though it is usually used to restore a magical core’s strength when it has been depleted, not create a new one.”

 

Light feels himself brighten. “That’s even better! We have a starting point -”

 

“Light,” Mr. Whammy interrupts, holding up a hand. “I know what the Advisories will say. Such a potion could be abused by anyone who gets their hands on it.”

 

“So we’ll make keep it a secret,” Light counters, determined. “We’ll make it so that I’m the only one that can use it. DNA activated. I haven’t gotten to that chapter yet, but it’s possible, isn’t it?”

 

“It...is possible,” Mr. Whammy agrees, less reluctant this time, his eyes shining. “Another level of difficulty in addition to an already sensitive formula, but possible nonetheless. You’re asking to create a bespoke potion with highly exact specifications before you’ve even received a syllabus.”

 

Light is well aware. He’s pretty proud of himself, in fact. Mr. Whammy continues.

 

“More complicated than creating the potion itself will be getting it approved by the Advisories, even with me and my my facility backing you up. You’ll be inviting a certain degree of scrutiny, you must understand, even if they decide not to allow it.”

 

“Sounds challenging,” Light says fiercely. “So, when is my first class?”

 

With that, Light graces Mr. Whammy with the first genuine smile he’d managed since he arrived in Mu, as if to give the man a taste of just how disarming he can be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo. long chapter this time! it got sad there for a bit so i wanted to end on an upswing. there won't be much need to describe every transformation aftermath this way, but i like the idea that this is not a fun creature to be and wanted Light to finally break down a little. he doesn't fall apart much but when he does, oh boy. 
> 
> i also had fun with the flashbacks! there will be more of them, but i don't want them to be overwhelming. thanks so much for your responses - i love them so much!! please keep them coming. <3
> 
> next chapter will feature more whammy boys
> 
> oh I'm also on tumblr now: https://meekinheritance.tumblr.com/


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